


Forgive me father for I have sinned

by PluralisMajestatis



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Catholic Images, Catholic Matt Murdock, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, M/M, Matt Murdock & Foggy Nelson Friendship, Oral Sex, Porn, Priest Kink, Priest!Frank, Semi-Public Sex, Slow Burn, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2018-08-12 21:12:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7949341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PluralisMajestatis/pseuds/PluralisMajestatis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As soon as you are more of a ‘good catholic boy’ than your priest, you may wonder if you really deserve the name ‘The Devil of Hells Kitchen'. Or if a confession is actually as beneficial as you want it to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The scent of coffee

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Vergib mir Vater, denn ich habe gesündigt](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/226462) by Me. 



> 1\. Please note that english is not my native language and I do NOT speak it on a regular basis.
> 
> 2\. I really liked the idea of Frank beoming a priest like he wanted to in the comics. Might sound strange, is strange, but here I am :)

 

 

†

 

It had been a long time since Matt felt like going to a confession.   
  
It wasn’t like he had no reason to go, but his legs had refused him to enter a church for the longest time. He felt like a stranger in his own home when he walked through the huge doors in the scared place and yet it felt… good. Churches had always been some kind of a home to him, even more than the small flat he had inhabited with his father such a long time ago.  
  
Or the orphanage.  
  
Or his current flat.  
  
The only place in this city – on this earth – that had been some sort of resort, had been the room he had shared with Foggy. Even though it had been nothing but a nightmare for the first few weeks, due to some extended snoring of his newly found roommate.  
  
The silence of the nave felt like a warm, welcoming hug and it was oh-so-comforting. Matt was able to shut out the noise of the streets and just focus on his own body, the closest and tiniest movements within his reach.  
  
In here were no barking dogs. No screaming voices. No languages he did not understand and it was so nice fresh and cool in here that he scolded himself for being absent that long. New York’s summers were nothing but torture and yet everyone was surprised when it happened time and time again. One might think that Matt might be prepared for the next summer, but no. He was just as delusional as the rest of this damned city.  
  
Even though he was fucked either way, since attorneys had a rather strict dress code. A suit was mandatory for a lawyer. But an ice cooled drink would be an option, though.  
  
Matt’s cane made that _tack tack tack_ noise while he walked down the aisle. Nobody was here but the priest and a sinner, both sitting in the confessional. He had to come clean with a minor misdemeanour and Matt tried to avert his ears. That… the things said during confession weren’t meant for his ears, even though it would be easy for him to eavesdrop. He hears everything…  
  
A blessing and a curse.  
  
Matt supressed the desire to sigh heavily and just closed his eyes.  
  
Why exactly did he came here? He had better things to do on a late evening…  
  
Well, because Foggy had said he had to come here, or he would kill him. (Metaphorically. Even though Foggy was one determined man, he was no match for Matt. But Matt was in no mental shape for a fight with his best friend.)  
  
That’s why.  
  
That’s enough of a reason to be here, Matt did not want to pick a fight with Foggy. Even more so since he found out that Matt was nobody else but Daredevil. Foggy worried about him, Matt knew that Foggy nearly drowned in his goddamn worry. And he was really good at being concerned. He even put his hands on his hips like a mother in an old commercial. Matt would laugh about Foggys motherly concern if it wasn’t justified. And boy, it was so fucking justified at the moment.  
  
Matt felt off.  
  
Matt felt off for quite a while now.  
  
To be precise since last Sunday.  
  
Everything had gone tits up and fuck Matt was a mess. He thought that he had hidden it quite well, but Foggy saw right through him. Matt hadn’t recovered, every day felt worse than the day before and… and… He must have smelled the alcohol off of Matt. He wasn’t an alcoholic, but he enjoyed the taste of a good – or bad – liquor a bit too much in the last nights.    
  
Foggy had tried to help Matt, but it had been as fruitless as the tree of Sin. Which had not that many fruits.  
  
All of that had led up to this very moment, to this place. Foggy had ordered Matt to go here, to meet up with the priest. Just tell him, if you can’t talk to me, Foggy had said and his voice had been sharp, bleeding from the feeling of betrayal.  
  
Matt had never been to this church, but his normal go-to-church was due to be renovated and Foggy warmly recommended the assigned priest here.  
  
Matt played nervously with his cane, rotated it between his fingers, far too skilled for a man this blind. But nobody was able to observe him right now and it calmed his nerves quite a bit. Foggy had said, a friend had told him – Foggy had a damn lot of friends – that the pastor was quiet relaxed and one of the best listeners who had graced this earth.  
  
Matt was sceptical at best, but that didn’t matter anymore.  
  
He was here and he was going to confess.  
  
He flinched as the small door to the confessional opened. The door cried and shrieked, as if the years of hidden secrets hurt it. A man left the cabinet. He was small, kind of thickset and his hands were shaking as he did the sign of the cross. His steps were uneven as if he had a limp and after a brief check up Matt knew for sure that he had broken his left leg not too long ago and it was still hurting him.  
  
Every step was loud and somewhat strange in the calm surroundings and as the echo finally faded away Matt exhaled softly. The sounds of the man washed away in the overwhelming noise of the city.  
  
Matt fell silent.  
  
He was able to just walk away. Like the man. It would be so easy…  
  
He might lie to Foggy that he had been here. He would be able to describe the smell of incense. The way it calmed him down, relaxed his nerves and made the aching headaches easier to tolerate. When he was younger and less experienced in controlling his powers he had come so often into church. Just to feel at ease for some precious minutes of his day.  
  
Matt would be able to describe to Foggy in which way the wooden floor beneath his feet had creaked whenever he would slightly move. He would be able to tell him how hard the bench had been and how his butt was still sore. And oh, he would lie about being better now. How good it had felt to talk about the things that were pulling him down.  
  
But there was one problem.  
  
He would not feel better.  
  
Not at all.  
  
And Foggy would be able to tell.  
  
The longer Matt waited the harder it would get. That’s why he stood with a small groan up and walked to the confessional booth.  
  
_Tack. Tack. Tack._  
  
He let his cane do the work for him, until it hit the door. He felt a man inside. He felt him behind the door that was exclusively reserved for the priest. No surprise here. He seemed to be rather young, if Matt had to guess, he’d say he was in the mid of his thirties with a body that could only be described as muscular. Athletic. His whole body seemed to be just one big muscle, covered by a vulnerable sheet of skin. It was covered in scars, yet his pulse was nothing but calm and relaxed. Even for someone who was just sitting. Only people who were used to a huge amount of pressure were able to have such a low pulse…  
  
Might this be a trap?  
  
A trap for Daredevil?  
  
Unlikely. Highly unlikely.  
  
But not unlikely enough to let down his guard.  
  
Matt furrowed slightly, before he slipped into his booth and took his place. The confessional smelled like the priest – Castle… Frank Castle, Foggy had told him his name – and the man that had been in here until a few moments ago.  
  
But it smelled the most like coffee.  
  
The corners of Matt’s mouth twitched. The priest seemed to have a weakness for caffeine. But that’s nothing compared to the overwhelming mass of Matt’s weaknesses, huh?  
  
“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned” Matt murmured and swept his hands in the formation of the cross, just like he had learned it back than in the orphanage.  
  
Like a good catholic boy…  
  
It was kind of strange, thinking about Matt’s life, as he had always picked the worst way to go. Or life had picked the way for him, he wasn’t that sure anymore. Starting with his blindness and Stick, that cruel bastard. Continuing with the orphanage and ending with the never-ending guilt on his shoulders… Life had always hit him with so much anger, with so much fury… Just like Matt had those criminals last Sunday.  
  
“Ever… Everything I am going to tell you is confidential, isn’t it?”  
  
Matt knew for sure that these conversations were highly confidential, he was a goddamn lawyer! He had to know shit like this and yet Matt was in need for a confirmation. For some words to hold onto. Or just… just the reassuring heartbeat of a stranger.  
  
“Of course.”  
  
Matt stopped.   
  
He was… surprised to say the least. The voice was rough and quiet, still so piercingly that Frank must have no trouble filling giant halls. A whole stadium might crumble under his whisper. He had a charming accent hidden behind his words… Maybe… Queens? Matt wasn’t sure, it got harder and harder to distinguish between different accents… But there was a special kind of warmth behind each letter, a twitch of the lips and Matt leaned back, causing the uncomfortable chair to croak.  
  
All he knew was that Frank’s voice was like balm for his upset nerves. He should ask him to read a book to him, or just read out some damn telephone numbers. Maybe Matt might fall asleep. He hadn’t slept in quite a while now and by God, he was so tired.  
  
“I nearly killed seven men last Sunday.” His throat felt blocked.  
  
The silence was thick on the other side of the confessional and Matt wondered if Frank had recognized Matt’s blindness. The sounds of his cane on the old floor must have been treacherous. Matt remembered the confessional from his holy communion. The small grid between the two cabins. It was made in a way to see the person on the other side without making out too many details. But Matt was not able to remember how much one could actually see though the little window.  
  
If Frank was able to recognize Matt?  
  
Was he able to see his hair, or the round glasses on his crooked nose? Matt had been verbally abused more than once for wearing sunglasses on the inside. He would never ever confess that it was a perverse joy to him to tell those fuckers that he was blind. The shock spreading out though their bodies and the stammered excuses were worth it… Yes, Matt was aware that it was not a really nice move but he was blind and a lot of joy had been taken out of his life that way. He wasn’t able to see the sunset, or his best friend. Hell, he wasn’t even able to see himself, even though he wasn’t sure if that would be so much of a joy. It was not a sin to allow himself some fun with those assholes, so Matt was on the save side.  
  
“Nearly?” Frank’s rough voiced dragged Matt out of his own mind and he blinked. It was strange, Matt has had a lot of contact to various priests throughout his life, but this one… felt different.  
  
For once: Matt was sure that every human being would have some physical reaction to the statement that someone had nearly killed seven people. A small rush of adrenalin or just a picked up heartbeat.  
  
Secondly: Priests tried to probe a little bit. They liked to use their phrases and their pretty rhetorical means to drag out even more information. But Frank was… different. Matt wasn’t able to press his thumb on the exact thing that was bugging him, but he shifted uncomfortable in his seat.  
  
He was so damn calm and collected, his heartrate did not skip one beat. The only reaction Matt was able to trace was his twitching index finger. That’s it.  
  
“Four men aren’t at risk of dying anymore… The other three on the other hand… They are still in hospital.” Matt twisted his cane between his fingers. He felt naked talking about the things he did… His voice was flat and insecure. A total counterpart to his voice whenever he was in court.  
  
It - he – was different in court. More self-confident. Talking was easier. It always felt as if someone had given him a golden tongue. Matt’s job was, to convince, and Fogg was the man for the whole, sheer mass of evidence. Foggy had always been so much better in getting things into a certain order. To make everything tidy and clear. Unlike Matt whose head was more of a mess than it had ever been before. Matt was more of a snake in court… He twisted and turned to fit exactly in that damn hole he wanted to get in.  
  
“What did you do?” He felt the eyes of the man linger through the grid on his face. His sonar picked up his turned head, but there was more to it. More to Frank… Matt nearly felt his piercing gaze all over himself.  
  
Matt averted his eyes.  
  
Looked down, without seeing anything.  
  
“I…” He was here to tell him what had happened. But it felt so damn hard. “I… It had been late at night and I was roaming the streets. Those… those guys had broken into a flat, which was inhabited by… not that legal citizens of New York. As far as I know the family had no stay visa…” Matt swallowed. The air was so damn tight in the confessional. “Nobody knew that the woman and her four children were in America. Her man wasn’t at home, he was at the harbour, doing some moonlighting. Sorting through scrap metal.” Matt pressed his lips together until they were nothing but a thin line. His hands grasped the cane a bit harder, while the anger grew hot and hotter in his guts.  
  
“I was not fast enough. I had heard the screams and I ran as fast as I was able to, but I was not fast enough and when I entered the flat… One of those men had raped the mother and another one was about to lay his filthy hands on one of the daughters… Sixteen. She is sixteen years old.” The need to just throw up had never been this strong in Matt.  
  
“I… I teared the men away and I just started to beat the living shit out of them. Another one wanted to attack me with a crowbar. It was so easy to disarm him and… I had no actual control… I used the crowbar against him, I just raised my arm and launched it down at him. I was so fucking angry, I aimed for his head and I did not miss my goal. Again and again… and again.  
  
Matt took a shaky breath.  
  
 “I didn’t spare the other ones.” Matt remembered the sound of breaking skulls beyond his fits. He remembered the stench of blood and the reek of fear in the air, oh, and he remembered the crying mother… He remembered how she crouched in a corner, huddled her children in her arms, trying to protect them.  
  
“I was all over with blood, as I heard the sirens in the distance. Everything… went by so quickly. When I was fighting those bustards, I had felt as if I was walking through quicksand, but all of a sudden time decided to make a huge jump. I… the family had begged me to hide them. If the police were to find them, they would be send back into their country… It would have been a death sentence to them. I had helped them, had brought them to a dear friend of mine, who happens to be a nurse. She took care of them and their… wounds.”  
  
Matt’s throat felt like someone had clogged it, he felt nauseous. Even though the air was filled with incense he still had that stench in his nose. The blood. He felt like he could hear the screams though the silence and the breaking of bones was just as haunting as the feeling of losing control.  
  
Everything was still there.  
  
His head did not allow him the grace of forgetting.   
  
“A… a neighbour must have called the police.” The words fell from his lips like water ran down a waterfall. “They stormed the apartment and were presented with seven more-dead-than-alive men. Nobody was able to talk, let alone breath on their own. No culprit in sight.”  
  
Matt swallowed hard.  
  
He… he had lost control. He wasn’t allowed to lose control like this, but is blood boiled in anger just by thinking about the scum that had entered the flat and… and fuck he wished for nothing else but finishing the job he had started. He wished that he had never set up those fucking rules for himself. No killing, fuck that... He just wanted to drag them in front of God and let him do the judging…  
  
The last judgement.  
  
“And I really, really want to regret it. I want to feel bad for… for the things I did. But the only thing I really regret is that I was not able to finish the job.”  
  
Matt fell silent for a brief moment.  
  
“I don’t think that I fully grasped the concept of a confession, huh? I should be regretting my wrong doings to get some form of absolution, but I must have missed that part, eh?” Matt bit down hard on his bottom lip. The warm, solid presence on the other side of the cabin pressed hard against his own. The silence grew thicker and wrapped his secrets into a cocoon… But God… It did not make it any better. Nothing made it better.  
  
He had been thinking of ending a human’s life. And even though it was a life of the lowest category, they were still one of God’s creatures. Even though they had been corrupted by the devil.  
  
“There is no need to regret anything.”  
  
Eh… what?  
  
T that was not the answer that he had expected. Matt jerked his head and his eyebrows drew together like the tiniest thunderstorm Hells Kitchen had ever seen. He aproned his lips. It was… really not what he had expected and it was for sure not what one would want to hear from a damn priest. It seemed so unreal. Fuck, nobody – but mostly not a priest – should tell someone that it’s not a big deal to nearly kill seven men, regardless of their misdemeanours.  
  
Fuck, three of them were still in a critical condition.  
  
And it was Matt’s fault.  
  
“I’ve lost control.”  
  
“And they are rapists!” Frank’s voice sounded angry, but that was all the reaction Matt was sensing. He was still so calm, just like a cruel, devastating storm that formed way to quickly to avoid. Only his hands had balled into tight fists. Matt felt his short, blunt fingernails pressing in the meat of his palms. His teeth were clenched just a bit tighter and his breath came only the tiniest bit more rapidly out of his nostrils. But these were minor indicators, the rest was still relaxed. Well… nearly. “What had happened to them?”  
  
Matt swallowed hard. Were Frank even a priest? He wasn’t that sure anymore. It appears that the smell of myrrh wasn’t the only requirement for a priest, huh?”  
  
“They are currently in a hospital. Some of them might be punished for breaking and entering. Well… maybe. That’s all they can be found guilty of, because the woman is not pushing criminal charges against them. And even if she were brave enough… Every lawyer would be smart in denying her case, since her charges would never ever stand any chance of being victorious… No legal citizens and so on…” Matt fell silent for a brief moment. “I offered it to them anyways.”

  
He had nearly done to much as Daredevil.  
  
And not enough as Matt Murdock.  
  
His hands were bloody in both cases and he was pretty sure they would stay that way for a really long time.  
  
Frank fell silent on the other side of the booth. He was disappointed. It was rather obvious. Well, it had not been the answer he had hoped for. He wanted some other information from Matt.  
  
Matt knew the tactic from court. Hell, he had used it himself more than once. One had to wait until the silence was too uncomfortable to bear and listen to the new information just appearing out of nowhere. Information the other person was actually not willing to give. And oh, Matt knew to shut up, he knew better than to start talking.  
  
And here he was, talking like an idiot, but he wasn’t able to stop himself anymore. He felt raw, empty and oh, everything grew out to be too much.  
  
“Two of them will be going to jail for a few months, the rest will be out for parole. A more than ridiculous punishment, but no matter what I do, I am not able to push for a bigger punishment.” Matt knew the tricks, but everything he had tried had been nothing but another dead end. He had even used some of his – Foggy’s – contacts but everything had been ineffective.  
  
His hands were tied behind his back and he had put the handcuffs on himself. He had been able to end all of this last Sunday night. He had been able to kill them, every and each one of them… But… he had refused himself the vain and short pleasure. And fuck, he did not want to hate himself for being so weak, but it appeared, that this was an unique selling of the Christian lifestyle.  
  
Self-hatred.  
  
“You should have killed them.”  
  
“Are you sure that you are an actual priest? Just wondering…” Matt asked irritated and sat up a bit straighter. It had felt good to talk about the shit that had went down, but… he had expected more of a sermon. Something along the lines to not judge others, and stuff. Or a severe punishment with an unmanageable count of prayers in seven different languages. Something that would make Matt regret. Something that might be able to help him to regain a bit of the control he had lost that night. But… everything Frank had to offer was a fucking statement that he should have killed them?  
  
“I am a priest, yet I am not a big fan of presenting the other cheek and shit. I am better off teaching my opponent that I am not one to be hit!”  
  
“An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth is not the best strategy when it comes to revenge.”  
  
Frank snorted.  
  
He folded his arms in front of his chest and Matt noted the various broken bones, hidden beyond rough scars. They were everywhere, on his arms, his shoulders, his chest and his back. He reminded Matt of a rag doll that someone had sewn with very bad and rough stitches.  
  
How did that happen?  
  
Was being a priest more dangerous than Matt had imagined?  
  
“It’s not about this whole tit for tat bullshit. It’s about prevention. It’s about preventing the scum from doing something like this ever again, to protect all the other women and children.” His voice grew deeper and not even the rough cough Frank did was able to hide it.  
  
Matt took a mental note. He did that with every person he met. He wasn’t able to see them, no, but he was able to remember a lot of shit. Information were his key to survive. And even though it did not appear as such: Matt enjoyed being alive quite a bit.  
  
“No, it’s all about to do the right thing, to do the legal thing. This is what our whole society is all about. I am already intervening way too much when I beat those criminals up and hand them over to the police. But it’s more or less within our legal system. But killing them? No, killing them is absolutely no option. I am not above the law.”  
  
Ok, there was one good thing about this whole confession-thing. Matt managed to drag himself out of his self-pity and take a breath. He was able to clinch onto his argumentation, to use it as a shield. Just as if he was still fighting for the general law and not his own. Even though the borders had vanished day by day, even more so since he had brought down Fisk.  
  
Frank snorted.  
  
“Are you for real? You are putting yourself above the law, whether you like it or fucking not. If it’s true what you are saying, you are nothing more than a vigilante, even though you are doin’ the work for the damn police. It’s still illegal. Mayhem and shit, I don’t know, I am not a lawyer.”  
  
Despite Frank’s harsh words Matt’s mouth twitched into a smile.  
  
“I am though and trust me, there is by far more involved, than just mayhem.” Matt often wondered – while he waited unsuccessfully for sleep to come – which laws he had already broken and fuck… It was a rather big amount that would guarantee him a lifetime of jail if it ever came to a trial.  
  
“But there are still borders. Killing another human being is one of those borders.” What does Frank know, huh? He was just sitting in this fucking church all day long. It was easy telling Matt that he should have killed them, if he was just sitting around. Save and sound. It was easy talking about killing if you had no fucking idea what it was like to take a life!  
  
“I had been a Marine for long enough to know when killing is nothing but an excuse and when it is a necessary shit thing to do. And preventing atrocities is such a damn necessity!” His voice got lower, a special kind of reprint entered his swinging vocal chords and it was nearly relaxing, if the topic wouldn’t ride Matt’s nerves in the most cruel way.  
  
But that’s not all…  
  
Matt became keen of hearing. That was interesting, even more interesting than he wanted to admit. It was a nice distraction from the everlasting guilt on his shoulders and he needed a lot of distraction. He felt like a blank, naked nerve someone had abused time and time again. And every time it got more painful. It was nearly a pleasant sensation to think about another person than himself.  
  
“A Marine?”  
  
It worked better than expected.  
  
“Yeah. For years.”  
  
“And what had brought you here?”, Matt wondered. The words had tumbled out of his cherry red mouth just like hastily thrown punches in the desperate need to land a lucky strike on the opponent. And Matt seemed to be lucky.  
  
Frank nearly growled out of anger.  
  
He wasn’t angry because of Matt, but because of something that had happened a while ago. Not yesterday, not last week, Matt felt a hard and solid pain that must have grown for quite a few years. And Matt poked right into it.  
  
“Family had been murdered. Thought that God might be my way to deal with the loss. You know... grant forgiveness and shit.” He talked matter-of-factly. As if he had learned to live with the agony… Well, survive.  
  
Matt was pretty sure that Frank was able to fool some ordinary people, but Matt was not one of them. His hearing was more than perfect and every little change, every break in Frank’s voice, every wronged truth was more than obvious to him. By God, Frank nearly bled the pain the past gave to him as a cruel and unwanted present.  
  
Matt pressed his lips onto each other and he folded his hands in his lap, as if he were praying. Even though he had never been further away from praying.  
  
He… he had not thought of Frank’s story like that. He had actually not though of anything, but this was… more. Just more… or too much. It felt like a noose was tightening around Matt’s neck and with every swallowed bit of spit it grew tight and tighter.  
  
“Does it work?” Matt asked, his voice crackling like fire.  
  
“Huh?” Frank was confused, as if the answer was in a different language he did not understand. If Matt were honest… it had not been the answer he wanted to give, but he felt as eloquently as a duck, unlike his normal self. But this narrow space and the things that were going on made him… just damn tired. His tongue felt like someone had put it straight into tar.  


“Granting forgiveness?” Maybe that was the way to peace? Maybe that could be the way for Matt to just end this shit and stop playing the martyr?  
  
“Still working on that one” Frank answered bitterly and Matts lips twitched into a sad smile for a mere second. It appears as if the both of them were miles away from a point of rest. Personal Rest. And until they’d get there, they had to do their work in hell.  
  
Matt wondered if the devil ever hoped for the day he might flee hell?  
  
Matt sure did.  
  
The silence grew thicker and it was as omnipotent as God himself. For a brief moment Matt was able to lower his sonar to really enjoy the silence, which cuddled against his sensitive eardrums.  
  
Nothing really existed for this small moment Matt liked to call eternity.  
  
A small, brief moment both men just sat there and enjoyed the serenity, before Franks rough voice dragged him back into reality. It was not a pleasant sensation, more as if Frank would grab his ankles and drag him out of church right into purgatory.  
  
(Well, at least it would be a lot colder than summer in New York.)  
  
“I guess, you want s’thing to talk yourself into believing that God is no longer be angry with you?”  
  
Well, of course.  
  
What else would make Matt stay? Not those seats, that’s for sure. He still had some bruises on his tights from his last mission and they did not make sitting here more comfortable. “That’s what I am here for.”  
  
Frank fell silent for a second. “Even though I don’t think that God has any right to be angry with you… The both of us know that he’s that kind of jerk who gets angry for every shit. Do the Lord’s Prayer ten times and you should be save.”  
  
Matt puffed.  
  
“What? Not enough? I can push it up to twenty” Frank’s voice sounded mockingly and Matt’s puffing transformed into a snort. He actually felt better.  
  
“I am still not that sure that you are a real priest.”  
  
“Well, let’s make it thirty prayers instead.”

 

†


	2. Some spices and other disasters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt was just observing Frank for research purposes, but Frank was downright stalking him. A talk might clear the air. Or it might make matters worse.

†  
  


Matt would lie to every human being – including Foggy – that the little talk with Frank had actually helped him a lot. It hadn’t been that much about the spiritual moment, because, lets be real here, Frank wasn’t that much of a spiritual man. No, it had helped, because of Frank himself, regardless of his spiritual level. He had not exonerated Matt off his guilt, he hadn’t given Matt what he wanted… needed. And still… Matt felt better. His heart felt less heavy. Not at ease, oh fuck no… But… better.  
  
Frank refused to see him – like the rest of the city – either as a saint or the Devil. He hadn’t treated him like he was some kind of… wonder boy, since it had been rather obvious who had stood behind that confession.  
  
Daredevil.  
  
No, Frank had… kind of calmed him down. Even though Matt refused to acknowledge it fully. Murder was murder, no motive – as noble and pure as it was – changed the gist of it. It hadn’t been self-defence, it had been pure, naked anger. Matt had rarely felt such a mass of overwhelming rage.  
  
It was inexcusable, regardless of how much Matt wished it was. The thirty _Lord’s Prayers_ , he had been ordered to do, were nothing but a joke, and yet Matt caught himself cowering on a rooftop, saying all those well known words. Like a whisper they sloshed over his lips, the wind caught them and dragged them through the air, out of town. A present. A present, which would be given back to him. He gave the city his prayers and the city presented him with all these sounds.  
  
Every Word.  
  
Every laughter.  
  
Every scream.  
  
“Our Father who art in heaven…”, Matt began quietly, bended his neck to the city to hear the it breath. Just to listen to it’s own strange melody. All those dirty, dark secrets the night wanted so desperately to hide. His suit creaked a bit, tightened around his tights, while he crouched a bit lower.  
  
The wind picked up.  
  
“Hallowed be Thy name.” Laughter. Loud Laughter. A father, playing with his little girl, tugging her right into her fluffy bed. He told her that she’s the best thing that had ever happened to him. A housewife, trying to tidy up the flat, before her husband gets back home after a long late night shift. Two gangsters, selling some weed. If this would have been a really calm night, Matt might have payed them a visit, but for now they were of no interest to him.  
  
He kept on listening.  
  
“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done…” This was the last prayer Matt had to slave through, yet he did not feel like the sin had been lifted off of his shoulders. He felt even worse, now that Frank wasn’t distracting him anymore. It felt more… intense. God, Matt didn’t know why Frank was such a pleasant distraction. Maybe it had been that rough edge in his voice? Matt reacted terribly sensitive to voices and it had been a strange yet welcome good deed, to listen to Frank.   
  
“On Earth, as in Heaven.” Matt focused his sonar. It flowed over Hells Kitchen. The city he wanted to protect so desperately and yet he felt like it was sinking into the filth deeper and deeper day by day. His mind sensed the church. Churches were never closed – he already knew that – but there were some times when not even the priest was in the house.  
  
When nobody was there… but Matt.  
  
Those lonely times were Matts favourites, because it was truly quiet.  
  
Matt was able to breath when he was alone.  
  
He really did not know why he observed Frank’s church. Statistically speaking it was highly unlikely to witness a crime in the greater vicinity of the church, but… Oh, Matt stopped thinking about his own reasoning, he was quiet sure that he wouldn’t like the answer. Had worked rather well in the past for him. If someone might describe Matt as ‘well’.  
  
If.  
  
Unlikely.  
  
Matt hadn’t been well for ages.    
  
Frank was still there, right in that church. His hands were folded loosely in his lap. Not in a praying stance, more like he was holding something that wasn’t really there. And Matt had already a good idea what that thing was. That might be the source of Frank’s twitching finger.  
  
He wanted to hold a gun.  
  
It must be some kind of relict, if it was true that he had been to the navy.  
  
Frank was just sitting there, starring calmly at the cross. Only on the inside, he was nothing but rage and fury. His pulse was beating angrily and…  
  
Two shots nearby took Matt’s attention away from Frank’s stronghold of loneliness. Matt had a job to do. Something that would grand him more absolution than thirty _Lord’s Prayers_. He had to help the city. Regardless of his burning muscles and the aching body. Wounds of past nights were no defeats, they were his personal Medals of Honour. He had to help…  
  
Maybe he would be cleansed off his sin one day. For one brief second he looked back at Frank, before he forced himself away from him, to dash into the direction of the freshly fired fight.  
  
The rest of the prayer must be stored for later.

  


†

 

 

Matt checked the church in the two subsequent nights out… Strangely enough. He always used the same, hidden method, and Frank was always there. It had appeared as if he malformed, right into the old wood of the church, until Matt realized that Frank was living there. Not in the nave, that would have been uncomfortable. (Churches were not well known to be comfortable at all.) No, Frank lived in the belfry – sans bell. It must have been taken out, because one of the neighbours had sued the church for a disturbance of peace. The bell rang a bit more silent off of a mechanical tape now. But without a giant bell up there, there was enough space for a grown man to life.  
  
The home of the priest.  
  
The priest who had some weapons hidden under his bed. These weren’t the guns you were able to buy over the counter. Even though the legal Wallmart-Weapons were harmful enough already.  
  
No, the guns Frank was hiding were military rank weapons.  
  
And yet there was another detail Matt felt, when he was observing from deep within the shadows surrounding the nightly church: Frank was always carrying a knife with himself all the time. Rugged right against his strong body.  
  
Unusual.  
  
But kind of understandable.  
  
Frank was a veteran, he was used to carry a weapon with him nearly all the time. And yeah, Matt might have sneaked a bit in Frank’s past. Mostly in his military carrier. He had stepped up on the hierarchy quiet quickly. He had become a Captain very fast and had earned himself some medals of Honour. And yet… His glory ascend in the Navy was stopped by a harsh and brutal descent. His family had been killed during a shoot out in a park. His wife, his daughter and his son.  
  
Matt felt sick.  
  
They had shot Frank as well. Right in the head, which he had survived strangely enough. Must have been a wonder. Or Frank was too stubborn to die, which Matt believed with his whole heart. After this point Matt had been unable to locate any more information. Between that horrible incident and the present day, Frank must have gotten his license as a priest and he must have moved here.  
  
Taking his history into account it was… kind of understandable that he was hiding guns away. Or that he carried a big knife with him all the time.  
  
The only thing Matt wasn’t getting behind, was why Frank whispered every night before going to bed: _One Batch, Two Batch… Penny and Dime…  
  
_

 

†

 

  
  
Apparently Matt wasn’t the only one observing.  
  
Was he surprised.  
  
Kind of.  
  
Was he supposed to be surprised?  
  
Hell no.  
  
He was waiting for him. It had been a really relaxed Thursday so far. Two minor cases which could be solved after a simple scheme taken out of the textbook. Foggy had already taken his break so that Matt was able to leave. Just as always. It had always been that order since they had opened up their chancellery. Matt really missed their shared breaks… Just not today. He was actually happy that Foggy wasn’t with him, when he felt Frank leaning at a headwall on the other side of the road. Matt felt off.  
  
And he felt Frank’s eyes tracking down his every movement.  
  
Well, fuck.  
  
Frank was of course tailing him. And Matt wasn’t one to be mad at him. If someone would have been confessing to him that he was Daredevil, he would have tailed the living shit out of this man! But how the fuck had Frank found him?  
  
That’s the question.  
  
Matt had never told him his name, and as far as he remembered those small booths, he was sure that it was not easy to see a face through the window. Matt stayed still for one second. His fingers cramped around the cane. Someone nearly ran into him, wanted to cuss at him, until he saw that Matt was blind.  
  
All that followed was a murmured excuse.  
  
Frank was observing everything. He was standing there totally calm, the arms folded in front of his broad chest.  
  
Was that a game to him? If so, Matt was obvious to the fucking rules. But he was curious… His curiosity would be his downfall one day, wouldn’t it? He pulled himself together, walked to the traffic light and laid down his hand down on the button, which would make some buzzing sounds as soon as he was allowed to cross the road.  
  
Frank started to move.  
  
So he had been waiting for Matt!  
  
Ok.  
  
Fine.  
  
The traffic light switched to green and Matt crossed the street. If Frank wanted to intimidate Matt, to threaten him to tell everyone his secret identity… Well, Matt had to get creative. “How did you find me?” Matt asked stiffly, stopping in front of Frank. He was a bit taller than Matt. Not by a lot, but he was indeed heavier than Matt. Not fat, it was all muscle mass. His shoulders were fucking huge, just like his upper arms. Matt hadn’t realized how much _man_ Frank was back in the confessional booth. He swallowed sharply. Frank knew how to use his body and Matt assumed that he had a good deal of fights back in his past.  
  
Or present.  
  
The smell of coffee was lingering around this man.  
  
“That wasn’t all that hard. I find it by far more interesting how you were able to find me…” Well, Frank wasn’t wrong. As a blind man Matt wasn’t able to find him that easily. Let alone on the other side of the street. If Frank hadn’t been suspicious up until now… well, he was now. And Matt was at fault. Congrats, he had played himself. Fuck it was like lightening himself on fucking fire. How much did Frank know, though?  
  
“Maybe the both of us are very observant persons.”  
  
“Maybe,” Frank nodded, “Or we are grapping something to eat in your break, while you explain to me in detail what’s up with you. And I will explain to you, how I had found you, ok?”  
  
A lot of things in a very few words, huh? Matt realized that his wasn’t the first day Frank was stalking him. He must have stood here for at least a day, watching Matt. Otherwise there was no way that Frank was able to tell when Matt’s break was. Or that he liked leaving the office to grab some food. He must have camouflaged himself rather well, because Matt had realized for the first time today that he was there. On the other hand… Matt wasn’t that observant when he was just Matt Murdock. Yeah, sure, he kept his senses open for some dangers, before they turned into huge problems, since he liked his cover as Matt Murdock really well. The blind lawyer… But other than that?  
  
He had to step up his game!  
  
“And what will happen if I do not want to?” Matt asked sharply.  
  
Frank shrugged really unimpressed. “I guess I have to find it out myself than.” That… wasn’t a situation Matt enjoyed being in. He liked being in control himself and the situation. He liked to rationalize, to think about things and make a decision in the end. But in this case... There was no way to decide between shit and crap.  
  
“Fine! I know a good indian restaurant right around the corner. Tag along,” Matt murmured and aligned his tie. Matt decided where they were taking their lunch. That restaurant wasn’t in any kind of way super secure, or gave Matt an advantage over Frank. But if he had to be stranded in a situation like this, he wanted the fucking food he was pining for the whole day.  
  
Frank nodded and started to follow Matt.  
  
The streets were rather crowded, but that wasn’t a surprise. It was New York after all. The city never really slept and there were always a lot of people, even late at night. Matt often felt so much life, so much energy, when he was running around as Daredevil.  
  
“So, why are you stalking me?” Matt wondered and tapped with his cane in front of himself. Some people reacted to his cane and made some room for him… or his creepy  
appendage. (Matt was sure that it was because of Frank, he wasn’t used to _THAT_ much space.”    
  
“Fascination.”  
  
“Elaborate.” A small trick Matt had picked up in the courtroom. He never asked direct questions, he always phrased everything very openly in the beginning. Matt enjoyed letting a person talk. It was easier for them to run into contradictions like this, or they were telling more than they would have, if Matt had asked a direct question.  
  
“I was wondering in which way a blind man was able to beat up a group of guys. Even more, to beat them up in such a way that they were knocking on death’s door.”  
  
Matt furrowed, while Frank kicked a small stone over the pavement. Matt heard the _klack klack klack,_ he heard the energy leave the stone, until it stopped moving sadly. Both of the men moved carefully through the crowd on the sidewalk. Frank was strangely… attentive, watching Matt if he was getting through with no problems. But he already knew that Matt was capable of moving on his own and beating up seven men. A sidewalk in New York wasn’t that much harder, even though it was a challenge on its own.  “How did you know that I was blind?”  
  
Matt cut the corner and opened the door to his favourite indian restaurant. The fragrant cloud hit him right in the face and matt loved it. It was overwhelming and strong, it smelled like food and numbed Matt’s other senses. And well, that’s what he liked about this place so much. It helped him to relax a tiny bit, to forget the rest of the world and just… enjoy his small time off. Matt got greeted immediately by the owner of the small restaurant, yet he hesitated. Matt was usually on his own, not with a guest. And yet there was Frank, looming like a shadow behind his shoulder.  
  
They were led to a table in a corner.  
  
Karen had said that it was rather nice here. There were a lot of light strings attached between the booths. Colourful little lights. Matt would have payed to see the small magic those lights did.  
  
All Matt knew was that the hum of the electricity numbed out the outer world even more. Frank had been silent until the both of them were alone and had gotten their menu. He had waited with his answer to Matt’s question. It seemed like he knew that what they were going to talk about, was not for any other ears than their own.  
  
“How I knew that you were blind? It was rather simple, knowing that you are Matthew Murdock…”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Cut the bullshit, Murdock. God and his Grandma know your face and who you are. After the whole fuckery with Fisk, I bet nobody who isn’t dying beneath a rock, knows who you are. Your name, your voice, fuck you’ve been on the news for quite a while, Mr. Attorney.” He laughed roughly. “And you’ve said it yourself during the confession. That you were a lawyer.” Frank shrugged, rolled his broad shoulders as if they were tense. Bullshit. Matt felt that there was no knot in his muscles, everything ran as fluent as a river. “And finding out who you are, was the smallest and easiest step, Red.”  
  
Great.  
  
Really fucking great.  
  
Matt folded his cane, until it was small enough to fit into his pocket, while Frank flicked listless and without any concentration through the menu.  
  
Matt leaned back, tried to compensate the Information. Frank had been able to track him down just with the small gist of facts Matt had given him, and because of his voice?  
  
Well… He was fucked.  
  
Royally fucked.  
  
This man was disgustingly attentive. Even right now. He did not focused on the menu, but on Matt. He observed every little flinch, every curling of his lips. He was a huge danger to Matt and it was up to him to find out what kind of danger.  
  
Lethal or just unpleasant.  
  
The return of the waiter was a small break in their conversation and Matt tried to uphold his best poker face, while he was noting down their order. “I’d like to have the usual, please”, Matt said kindly, even though he felt his intestines crumble under a heavy layer of ice. Frank closed the menu and gave it back to the waiter. “I’d like the same stuff as he does.”  
  
And just like that they were back to being alone.  
  
Matt wanted the waiter back.  
  
“Well, and what now?” Matt asked. His voice was a lot more aggressive again. He felt like an animal urged into a corner. It was kind of strange to have such a conversation in  a surrounding that was so… unfitting. Someone was always interrupting them and they had to stop talking to avoid some eavesdroppers. “You know that I am a blind guy who enjoys hitting people. I know that you are a priest with a rather impressive armoury. And I am pretty sure that not all of them are registered. So… here we are…”  
  
Matt spread his arms, as if he wanted to say that the current situation was shitty either way and he was none to change it. But against his expectation Frank started laughing, shacked his head with humour. “I am not here to threaten you, Matt. I have no intention in busting you. So cut the crap with your own threats, okay?”  
  
Truth. Matt observed every small change in Frank’s vital signs, telling him if he was a liar or not. But there was no such thing as a lie in his voice. There were two options. Frank was either a perfect liar – even too good for Matt -  or he said the truth.  
  
Both seemed to be rather… unbelievable, but Matt decided to believe that Frank was telling the truth.  
  
“I am just curious, even more since I am able to add up the numbers…”  
  
“I assumed we had already solved he equation. I thought we were hunting down the X”, Matt snorted not ready yet to let his defensive stance fall. Frank was making him nervous, a shiver ran down Matt’s spine. This man had been able to come to close to Matt in – what felt like – two easy steps. End even though he said that he was no thread… who was Matt to just believe him like this? He was a risk Matt had not anticipated.  
  
“Nobody likes a smart aleck, Murdock”, Frank hummed and his voice was filled with soft mockery. They had to stop their conversation once more when the waiter brought their food and Frank looked critical down his plate.  
  
“That’s Murgh Kashmiri.” That did not help Frank at all. Ok… “Chicken. And that bread over that, that’s Masala Papadam, really tasty bread made out of chickpeas.” Why did Matt explain this to Frank again? He wasn’t directly his enemy, but he wasn’t a friend either. (Maybe it was true? Matt was a smart aleck.)  
  
So fuck it, Matt wanted to enjoy his meal, even if it were the last thing he did. Which might be the case.  
  
He truly loved indian food. They used such a huge amount of spices and different blends that even Matt wasn’t able to taste each and every single one of them. So many layers of taste, so many different impressions. It was very soothing.  
  
“All right, to find the X…”, Frank started and Matt was sure that he heard his eyes rolling in an attempt to ridicule Matt, “To find the X you have to think a little bit further down the road. Matt Murdock enjoys going out at night to beat up some criminals. And a well known Daredevil was involved in Fisk’s case. A case said lawyer Matt Murdock took over.” Frank let his spoon swing between his fingers like a pendulum. “Might there be connection?”  
  
He scooped some rice into his sure-of-victory grinning mouth.  
  
Fucker.  
  
Matt swallowed the chicken and it tasted like cardboard, even though he knew that it actually tasted savoury and sweet at the same time, because they had the perfect balance of spices here. But now it was just bland, fucking cardboard. Thanks Frank for fucking over his favourite meal.  
  
“Bang… Bullseye.” Frank sounded soooo fucking smug that Matt loved the idea of just throwing the hot chicken into his face. He grinded his teeth, his shoulders tensed. Matt was damn tense, all of his firm body. He teared the bread into two pieces and he was shaking because of his suppressed anger…  
  
Or fear?  
  
He laid one piece of bread down. Damn, he felt like Jesus, who had known that fucking Judas would betray him. And here he was, still sitting with his own personal Judas at one table. Ok, Frank was no disciple and his last supper had definitely more curry than Jesus have had. “Well, congratulation. What are you going to do with the information?”, Matt asked sharply and pushed the bread into the sauce.  
  
He hoped Frank would not see how hard his fingers were shaking.  


“Nothing.”  
  
That was anticlimactic.  
  
His mouth was full while he was answering. “I just wanted to know if I was right and… well, I was right.”  
  
Oh fucking great. Matt would make him a trophy for his alter. Time for a quick change of topic. “Awesome”, he said sarcastically. “And why do you own so many weapons? That seems kind of excessive, even for an American.”  
  
“I am a cautious man.”  
  
Matt wanted to strangle him.  
  
Strangle him kindly.  
  
“If that whole… granting absolution isn’t working out for me, I am still prepared to proceed to more drastic measures.” Matt stopped anticipating an answer. Frank never gave the one, he was aiming for.  
  
“But you haven’t… yet…”  
  
“No, not yet.” Again, nothing but the truth and Matt sighed of relief. While being enrolled in the Nave Frank had killed some people for sure. Matt wasn’t that disillusioned to think that Frank’s vest was as fresh and clean as fallen snow, but it as a whole other deal to kill someone on the battlefield or in a city. Regardless of how crime ridden it was.  
  
“Thinking of someone special?”  
  
“Those bustards that killed my family. I am not sure if I’d be able to forgive them… even if I wanted to.” Matt felt Frank’s anger, he understood it. In a special kind of way, but he knew from experience that revenge made nothing better. It never changed anything. Revenge was a gift that never stopped giving. And her presents were nothing but a new trail of blood and revenge.  
  
“That doesn’t sound too Christian to me…”  
  
“What’s the phrase? If there’s a God, he has to beg me for forgiveness”, Frank said bitterly and scooped some of the food right into his mouth. His body temperature raised itself a tiny bit, but that might be due to the hotness of his meal.  
  
“Sounds rather conflicting for a priest.” Matt’s voice sounded hollow and calm. A tiny bit on the soft side. He knew what Frank wanted to say, oh, Matt knew it all too well. His kids must have been terribly young, taking Frank’s recent age into consideration. And he had lost them, just like his wife. No, he hadn’t lost them, they were taken from him. Brutally. They had Frank left alone in front of an abyss. And this abyss had become his path. It was able to change a human being, and nobody knew the outcome.  
  
“It’s rather hard to believe in God when you’ve lost everything, Red. Some people get closer to him during hard times, others drift away and I am somewhere in the middle. Pinned in place like one of those creepy butterflies some freaks like to collect.”  
  
Matt fell silent, let the silence grow between them. Not as if it were a shield, more like a pillow for the both of them to sink in. To rest for just a second. “I don’t mean any harm, Red. I kinda wanna help, you know?”  
  
Nothing but the truth.  
  
Matt wanted to answer, but right in this moment his mobile phone decided to ring and the electronic voice told him again and again that _Foggy Nelson, Foggy Nelson, Foggy Nelson_ was calling. Matt raised a hand in an attempted to excuse himself, while digging the other hand right into his pocket and got his mobile phone out. He was kind of grateful for the short interruption. There was a lot of information balling up between them and Matt was in need of a break to process all of them accordingly.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“I am so damn sorry, Matt. I don’t want to disturb your break, but I am with a new client and he’s only speaking Spanish. Karen is nowhere to find and… yeah, I know… I knooow, I should have taken that Spanish-Shit with you and not the Panjabi course, but I am losing my mind if he says _Porita achudarm, por favor_ one more time.”  
  
Matt laughed softly.  
  
“I guess he is saying _Podría ayudarme, por favor_. He’s asking for help. Just put a cup of tea together I am getting to you as fast as I can.” Matt ended the call and put the mobile Hobe back into his pocket. “I am terribly sorry… work is calling. Literally.” He was grateful to leave, but at the same time he felt a small jab right into his heart. Like a very well placed punch. Frank had a rather calming personality. Even when they were talking about such a sensitive and grinding topic. Matt’s nerves were stretched to the max.  
  
Matt rummaged in his pocket and drew his wallet. He left some money on the table. “It’s on me.” Frank prepared to protest, but Matt wasn’t giving him the tiniest space to complain. Frank groaned in exasperation.  
  
“Not next time, though.”  
  
Wait… what? Another meeting, another dinner? Matt had assumed that now, where they had shared their dark and dirty secrets, they were off the hook? They knew some stuff about one another and that’s it? As if Frank were a telepath, he snorted. “You didn’t think that I would ignore Daredevil that easily, did you?”  
  
“Well, yeah.”  
  
He actually did. Matthew Murdock was not an interesting person and Daredevil was not a guy you want as your enemy. In that regard… Frank had nothing of interest to find in Matt. And Matt… Well he liked Frank’s voice, he would give him that, but that’s where it ends. He might be more of a danger than he was of good use. Fuck.  
  
“Run, Murdock. You got some work to do. See you ‘round, Red.”  
  
It was amazing. Frank was the only human being Matt knew, who was able, to make a promise sound like a threat. A shiver crawled down Matt’s neck.  
  
He nodded grimly. Even though he disliked the current development, he was kind of powerless to stop him. Paying Frank a visit as Daredevil would be a good idea, but the dramatic effect wouldn’t be in action, since Frank knew who hid behind that mask. “Oh, before I forget.” Matt stopped in his tracks, turned the head slightly to show Frank that he was listening.  
  
“If you run into trouble late at night… you know that churches never close.” Matt’s lips twitched ever so slightly.  
  
“Understood, Father.”

 

†

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God, thank you so much for your reviews and the kudos :D I really do appreaciate it , since I am kind of insecure in my writing :D So thank you, thank you, thank you. 
> 
> The next three chapters are already done (in German) and only need to be translated, so yeah :D It's slow burn tho. Because I need my time. Hope ya'll are allright and thanks again :)


	3. Sacred things and what to do with them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt pours himself a drink. And another one. 
> 
> He isn't known to make the best decisions when he's drunk, but that hasn't stopped him yet and neither will it now.

†

  
  
Matt wasn’t that sure what to do with Frank and it was bothering him tremendously. The last time he has had problems reading, looking into and analysing a person, had been when he had been with Electra. And well… Everyone was aware how that had ended.  
  
In a big, huge pile of smelly shit.  
  
It wasn’t like he was interested in Frank, Matt thought sober, while pouring himself a bit less sober a glass of wine. When he had come home, everything had felt… wrong. Slightly shifted, not noticeable at first but the longer you walk around, the more you feel… that something is off. And that itching was best fought with a nice, big drink. So he had to go back to his good, old friend alcohol. Not to lose all of his senses, but for the mere hope of dulling them. Just to get away from the hammering pain inside of his head, the feeling of… wrongness in his own flat.  
  
Inside of him.  
  
The headache increased.  
  
It always came when he was lost in thought.  
  
And fuck, he was so lost right now.  
  
He overthought too much.  
  
He thought of Fisk, sitting in prison. But even behind bars Fisk was still nothing but a threat. He was a powerful man and Matt knew all too well that he was just as vengeful. He thought about his chancellery, which had a big boom after that whole Kingping-scenario, but they were ages away from writing black numbers. Maybe they should start following Karen’s lead to be a little bit smarter… economically. She was the one using test versions from various professional software for the overall accounting. But even Karen might get to her wits end, since there was a limit to free trial software. Maybe if they changed their IP? Regardless, they had to invest at one point into a real software, but that wasn’t the biggest problem on Matt’s mind. They had always managed.  
  
Somehow.  
  
Although they were taking bananas as a legitimate payment.  
  
Even back in the not so glory old days, when Matt and Foggy had shared a room during their university times, they had overcame every obstacle. Matt remembered the time before their first state exam and how Foggy had been hyperventilating on a daily basis. Matt remembered how the two of them had taken a few minutes off each day to talk about their future.  
  
To dream.  
  
They had dreamed of a law firm of their own. Sure, they had to be good, Foggy had said, but the two of them were nothing but good. Fuck, they had been two of the top students of their year. They had pushed each other, higher and higher, until they had been able to taste the stars.  
  
They had thought about working for a huge company for a few years, earning some money, making a name for themselves. Matt still had the heritage of his father back than, since he had been able to survive on jobs and a huge scholarship, but…  
  
Well… He had used it to get their business going, that’s for sure.  
  
But the money had never been too much of a concern for Foggy and Matt when they had been dreaming of their bright, bright future. Their dreams had been about fighting evil, standing up for the small man and being the heroes New York was in need of so desperately. Getting rich by being the good guys.  
  
Some of those things became reality.  
  
Others not.  
  
They weren’t rich. They were taking bananas as offerings, like… you cannot get rich on bananas. The financial situation was dire at it’s best and the panic was pressing hard against Matt’s temples, which started to throb.  
  
They had always promised themselves that they would make it. Foggy with his Civil Law focus and Matt with his criminal law focus. They both had their strong sides and weaknesses but they completed each other… Better than brothers ever could. Matt sighed heavily and his burning eyes fell shut for a moment.  
  
But money wasn’t the only problem on his list. Foggy was on that list as well. He still worried about Matt. And that’s the exact reason why Matt refused to tell him about this whole Daredevil act. Ha had kept it hidden from Foggy, not because of distrust, oh no… But because he was afraid what the worry would do to this fucking ray of sunshine. He trusted Foggy with his life, but… he did not trust himself to be strong enough… To not break Foggy.  
  
Like he was doing know.  
  
He was swimming in his concern.  
  
Drowning.  
  
Another score in Matt’s post of shame.  
  
Another score Matt would never ever be able to repair.  
  
Matt fell into his couch, making no sound at all. The flat was still way too hot. The day had been tortuous and the night wasn’t about to show any more mercy. Even the ice in his glass of whisky – wasn’t he drinking wine just a second ago? Did he… had he changed his poison of choice? – wasn’t able to cool his hot body or even his overheating head down. The thoughts just kept on spinning and spinning and spinning, dragging Matt along for a ride he wasn’t prepared for.

  
Dragging him to the root of actually a lot of his problems:  
  
Daredevil.  
  
But Daredevil was a problem all on its own. No, actually Daredevil was a bunch of problems, stuffed into a skin tight, red suit with horns. So many problems that Matt did not want to spare so much time and look at them. If he would do that… Well, he would suffocate. Picking one problem related to the Devil seemed to be the better idea and hey, guess what? That problem right over here had a name:  
  
Frank fucking Castle.  
  
Just thinking of his name let Matt’s body shiver in worry. Worry he tried to drown in a huge, fast-paced gulp of his cheap alcohol. The meet-up at the diner had happened roughly ten hours ago, and yet… Matt was still at unease.  
  
Frank knew his secret.  
  
He had looked so easy through Matt’s disguise, as if Matt were nothing but that thin, fatty paper, wrapping around Foggy’s Fajitas. Those damn Fajitas Foggy mispronounced every time, regardless of how many times Matt tried to teach him the right pronunciation.  
  
Ok, Frank had gottem some information no one else had got before, but that wasn’t the matter right now. It had been so easy for him to get behind Matt’s secret. In every detail possible. He probably knew Matt’s social security number after just one confession.  
  
However he had done that.  
  
Matt was quiet sure that he had those skills to find it out.  
  
Matt rested the glass on his table. The impact was accompanied with a small _pling_ that irritated Matt’s ears in a strange way. He stood up, hands resting on his hips at unease. His confession had happened a few days ago, his dinner a few hours, but he had a hard time remembering a time where he did not fear that the police would storm his flat, because of Frank’s betrayal.  
  
Even though his claim would not hold up as evidence in front of a court – since he was a priest and his requirement of confidentiality would shoot him in the leg – it would be over for Matt. The case might go to waste, since he wasn’t able to raise the issue in itself, but the police would know… People would know. They would see his get up in his flat when they’d arrest him. They would know… and words travel fast.  
  
Everyone would stalk Matt, would hunt him down. Men like Fisk would love to get their hands on him. They’d put him in a corner until there was no way to escape and… and…  
  
What if they drag Foggy into this mess?  
  
Fuck!  
  
He should be taking care of Frank. The world rotated and his head felt light. Way too light, to be still attached to his neck, and yet… it was way too heavy. Like a rock, dragging Matt down. He needed to have something against Frank right there in his palm. It was… mean, yeah. But it was a tactic he had learned really early in his legal carrier: If you aren’t on the winning team you have to make the other side loose even harder.  
  
Huge corporations used money as leverage to hold the smaller opponents down. Matt and Foggy had been black mailed in the past. Some corporations had attempted to bribe them. _Nelson and Murdock_ had always denied them. Even though some financial aid would had been awesome, but they were here to do the damn right thing and nothing else.  
  
Matt had to get a leverage against Frank.  
  
Matt wasn’t able to use his force and strength as a weapon of intimidation against Frank, he thought angry, while walking to his closet, searching for his old Daredevil clothes. The black ones. The sport clothes he utilized in a not intended way. Matt didn’t want to get Daredevil associated with a simple breaking and entering. Even though his alter ego wouldn’t mind that much, considering how much shit was already on his boots, but breaking into a church, or more precisely into the flat of a priest… well… that wasn’t something one might call good publicity.  
  
His fingers ran over the rough fabric of his clothes. The black pants, the skin tight shirt he bought at a sports wear shop. The salesman had told him that it would absorb all body fluids during training. Matt was able to tell by now that mild stabbing wounds were the limit of the fabric.  
  
He got dressed.  
  
With fingers way to used to the movements, he bound the cloth around his head and jumped into his boots.  
  
Yeah.  
  
Fuck yeah, that was good.  
  
Fucking good.  
  
The clothes did not offer a lot of protection, but he wasn’t planning on beating up a bunch of criminals. He was breaking into a church! That should be as easy as stealing candy from a child.  
  
And just as morally wrong.  
  
Matt felt like a heathen when he did the sign of the cross and prayed to not commit too many sins at once. A church was something sacred and Matt tried to leave sacred things as sacred as possible.  
  
Except for that one time Matt had accidentally broken the holy sacrament of marriage with a woman. But – defending Matt – he had only heard of her husband after sleeping with her and he had been a student. And everything that happens at university, stays at university. The term sin was a bit more loose around there.  
  
Matt huffed, his breath smelling a bit too much like alcohol.  
  
He let his weapons stay inside of his closet.  
  
Only breaking and entering.  
  
Only looking around…  
  
Leaving.  
  
No fighting at all.  
  
Men such as Frank hid their dirty secrets somewhere and Matt would be the one to find them. Even as tipsy as he was now. He would do everything to discover one buried secret that would make Frank vulnerable. Not that Frank was… interesting or something – nah! – but he needed it to protect himself. Just that. Nothing else.  
  
Matt was really proud of his self-lied excuse. Proud enough to swing himself out of his window, onto the ladder and up to the roof.  
  
Time for a little visit.  
  


†

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)))))))))) It took me ages and I am sorry. I try to excuse myself by saying that I am totally working hard on my law school thingy, but I am a lazy bum and I am just a fuck-up. Sorry for that. Anyway, I really hope you liked the chapter. I guess I will make them shorter, so I get them translated a bit faster? Dunno. Wish ya'll well :) Take care.
> 
> Upcoming: a lot more Frank.


	4. Breaking and Entering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt does stupid things and is really proud of himself

†

  
  
Out of all those things Matt might have payed attention to if his sonar would not have been fucked by the alcohol, the weather would have been the most useful thing. Or, to be more concrete: The rain.   
  
Angry, heavy clouds had piled up, as if God himself wanted to stop him from doing whatever Matt had put his mind to. Matt usually payed a lot of attention to the weather, since he wasn’t prone to carrying an umbrella with him at all times. They were just as annoying to throw away, as soon as a fight broke loose, as his cane.   
  
But today… Well today he hadn’t checked the surroundings, the humidity in the air. Or even… fuck… He hadn’t even told Siri to give him a breakdown of the current weather forecast. No, he had just thrown on some shoes and off he had gone. Something Stick had always criticised about Matt. He was too impulsive, too fast. As soon as a thought stuck his brain, he was on his feet.   
  
Or in this particular case: Out of the window.   
  
He had crossed nearly half the distance, when the heaven opened his locks. The downpour was immediate and heavy. Matts clothes were soaked within the blink of an eye and Matt had to stop dead in his tracks to realize: He was a dumb piece of shit. Maybe God wanted to show him that he wasn’t pleased with him breaking into a church to spy on a fucking man of God himself?   
  
Who knew?  
  
But even if God presented himself right infront of Matt, he would have carried on with his plan. He was determined. And he was afraid. So fucking afraid of what might happen, if he allowed Castle to keep the upper hand.   
  
But it was still a shitty situation.   
  
The rain was cold as fuck.   
  
And the distant rumble of thunder wasn’t going to help Matt’s overall case either. Matt was faced with a decision. Either he walked home and hid, never talking about the shit he was about to do again, or… he did what he came for…   
  
Well, he was already wet. And cold. Which might have been a blessing, if he weren’t about to break into a house while being a tiny bit drunk. Foggy would say right now: Matt, you’ve got all your senses together, except for your damn common sense, so that’s the answer to what Matt should do.  
  
He kept und running.   
   
The way wasn’t hard, but the roofs were slippery and wet and it took him longer than usual to arrive and he stumbled twice. Not very daredevil-esque. Damn the alcohol. It was the devil’s work after all. The longer it took Matt to get there, the tighter the clothes snuck to his body, until he was pretty sure his abs were visible under the tight shirt. Not that anyone was seeing him, while he jumped down from a fire-exist and ran across the street right up to Castle’s church.   
  
The shadows were his best friend, not one inch of his body stepped into the bright light of the humming street lamps.   
  
Matt stumbled onto the sacred ground and started to search for an entry. He wasn’t in a hurry, but getting out of the rain would be kind of pleasant. His senses and his fingers alike tapped over various windows and backdoors, trying to find an easy entry, while the rain tried to drown him…   
  
All windows he tried were locked up…   
  
Fuck. He needed some sort of information about Frank…He needed to get in there.   
  
He was still able to turn around, though. For one brief moment his paranoid brain allowed a clear thought, a bright ray of sunshine in the darkness… But only for a brief moment, before it vanished into nothingness. He needed some sort of leverage, to shut him down, or make him less dangerous. Even though he had an aura of danger surrounding him. A sheer power, sleeping within every move he made, every word he said.   
  
Matt cursed softly, while looking for an entrance. It took a bit of scrambling around, before he was able to find a useable window, leading into the backroom of the church. It was a bit secured, but not too much to handle. An easier entrance than the other windows he had tried before. A lock not perfectly in its place. Matt’s hands stopped shaking, the alcohol kicking in fully. Not that he needed the extra bit of help. It was a church after all, not Ford Knox. Matt entered very slowly and carefully, not to disturb anything. Right in front of him was a small stairway leading up to Frank’s personal rooms.  
  
Nothing else. No person, no living being. Not even a mouse.   
  
So far so good.   
  
Nobody had noticed him. The only people currently in the main room of the church were some homeless people, looking for shelter of the heavy down pour. It was nothing but a matter of time, until the police would get here during their nightly visits and kick them out. Matt did not understand it. He really did not. Churches were meant to be nothing but shelter for those needing it. Was it that much of a better idea to kick them out on the street? Naked to the weather and what not? Matt knew all too well, what was waiting out there in the cold, black night.   
  
So… no, it wasn’t a better idea to kick them out, but nobody cared enough to do something. A dead homeless person was one ‘danger’ less. Bullshit. The homeless people weren’t New Yorks problem, but nobody cared.  
  
Nobody really cared at all.   
  
Even Matt did nothing of real use. He tried to keep the streets save, tried to make the city a better place for everyone, mostly the unfortunate, but the scum and the dirt always got back up.  
  
It was a useless fight, but Matt was not ready to give up on the city…  
  
Well, except right now.   
  
Right now he had another job. Finding something to hold up against Frank, just in case of a total fallout.   
  
A fallout with a priest…  
  
It was easy for Matt to climb the stairs, avoiding those steps that would give his position away. Franks flat was secured by an easy lock and if Matt would not have been drunk out of his mind, he would have noticed a small alarm system Frank had installed. But – unfortunately – Matt did not notice it at all…  
  
He entered the little flat and once again he was a little bit too impressed with himself.   
  
Frank wasn’t here.   
  
Not in the open living room, or the small kitchen. Not in the bathroom and oh wonder, the bedroom was just as empty. Matt smiled, letting his guard down. Something he wouldn’t have done, if he had been sober.

  
Very good.   
  
Matt’s shoulders sacked, and he sighed relieved.   
  
Wherever Castle was, _not here_ was a damn fine place, if you were asking Matt. Especially when you were breaking into his property! But considered how easy it had been, Matt wouldn’t go as far as calling it _burglary_.  
  
Maybe from a law enforcement point of view, but… not really… It was nearly an invitation if you leave your shit as unguarded as Frank.   
  
Matt entered Frank’s bedroom carefully. Nothing special. Smallish. Huge bed, old mattress. No pictures, or decorative items. The bed was made super tidy. You could bounce a coin off that bedding!  
  
Not important.  
  
Castle’s sense for order were no point of leverage.   
  
He had to hide something, and the best place to search for monsters, was under the bed.   
  
Matt went on his knees in front of the bed, leaving enough space to pull out the huge  drawers, revealing what was inside. All the little droplets of rain he had left on his way up hee were not on his mind right now. Who cared that he had brought some rain with him?   
  
Nobody!   
  
Right!   
  
Frank wouldn’t even notice!  
  
Concentrate.   
  
Locate your sonar, pull your damn senses together.   
  
He wasn’t able to look into the drawers, his mind was all over the place. The mattress was actually blocking his sonar, regardless of how hard he tried to look inside.  
  
He had to open them.   
   
Matt pulled the drawer out and stopped dead in his tracks.  
  
Normal people stored their sex toys in those kind of drawers. Sometimes maybe a bit more embarrassing sex toys, something spicy and kinky. Other people just put some random shit down here. Something they weren’t too keen of. And Frank was no exception to that rule… in some respect. Now that Matt was able to feel and ‘ _see’_ the things in his drawer in all the details he was shocked.   
  
He had expected a lot… But not that.   
  
America was the country of weapons, that’s not a secret, but Matt was 100% sure that you weren’t legally allowed to own a rocket launcher and hide it in your bedroom… Not to start with all the other weapons in the drawer… Grenades… Fucking mass killing rapid fire machine guns thingys! Matt shivered as he ran his fingers over the deadly metal.   
  
He felt so much colder.   
  
The good, christian boy inside of Matt was shocked when he realized that he wished for some good old dildos in the drawer… Which would have been just as scandalous, considering that Frank was a priest and all. But way less dangerous.  
  
Matt continued to further examine the weapon. Some seemed to be legal, or at least able to obtain for an American citizen. But Matt was able to count those guns by the fingers of one hand…   
  
The rest were a whole different level.   
  
Everything seemed so damn surreal.   
  
This was still part of a church.  
  
Holy ground and all.   
  
And Frank was a _priest_. What did he need all those killing machines for?! In a _CHURCH_!

  
Fuck, Matt was sure to still hear the long lost sounds of the last prayer. Soft and whispered, sacred… And yet… he was kneeling in front of a huge pile of weapons. That… it did not match up?  
  
Matts fingers were shaking as they felt their way around in the drawer, before stopping dead in their tracks. Between the cold, hard metal was something small, tiny… nearly soft. Matt carefully pulled it out, felt around the edges. His fingertips ran over the clean front, recognizing the material. A photograph. A often touched, old photograph…   
  
And Matt had no idea what was depicted.   
  
Fuck, when were 3D printers due again?   
  
But what was a picture doing here? Hiding between all those weapons? Matt furrowed his brows. Everything he found was confusing him even more! What the…  
  
“You’ve got exactly one chance to answer me.” Matt heard the rough voice, followed by the distinctive klick of a cocked gun from the general direction of the door. “What the fuck are you doing in my bedroom?”

 

†

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...
> 
> sorry?
> 
> I just try... to make the chapters a bit shorter, but more frequent? Anyway, thank ya'll for the feedback and I love you and yeah :) Hope you are having an awesome day :)


	5. A half measure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt gets busted and Frank makes coffee

†

  
  
Frank.   
  
That was Frank’s fucking voice. He was wearing a rain jacket and the water dripped down his body, pooling at his feet on the old wooden floor. He must have made a security walk over the vast range of the whole area, that’s why Matt must have missed him. The heavy downpour had been nothing but a thick veil to his senses.   
  
Or in short:  
  
Fuck.  
  
His shoes were still dirty and muddy from the earth of the small herb garden, growing behind the church. The crushed herbs smelled really nice, just as the earthy hint they carried around with them. But there were other odours, lingering in the air. Metal… oil. And a lot of cold coffee. “What exactly are you doing?” Every word was like a cut. A cut meant to let Matt bleed out slowly.   
  
Oh fuck. What was Matt supposed to say? He licked his lips nervously and lowered his hands slightly to put the photograph back into the drawer. Or at least that was his intent, until Frank growled that Matt had to keep his hands up in the air… Yeah, Matt had forgotten about all those guns in the drawer… Frank expected Matt to cock out a gun and use it as leverage against him, but Matt wasn’t really good with guns. He was – quietly frankly put – terrible at aiming. His sticks were no problem, he was even able to throw them, because he measured his strength carefully, but guns had always been a different calibre.   
  
Literally.

 

It wasn’t Matt’s strength pressing the bullet through the narrow barrel, he wasn’t the one determining the energy at the end, he could not anticipate the result. Plus: They were loud, so goddamn loud, making him blind for seconds, minutes… hours.   
  
And than there was his whole ‘no-killing-thing’. And guns, even though it was possible to not kill someone with them, made it a bit harder.   
  
Matt swallowed hard, his throat was as dry as the desert. What was he supposed to say?   
  
The truth would be the best, mh?  
  
Frank had not lied up until now, so why should Matt?  
  
“You’ve got enough knowledge about my life to destroy me and everyone of my friends. As soon as the public knows that I am Daredevil, even if it’s the smallest rumour floating around, I could close down Foggy’s and my agency!” Matt rose to his feet, really really slowly. His hands were still raised in the air. “So forgive me _Father_ …” The sarcasm was dripping from his trembling lips like the raindrops were dripping off of Frank’s broad shoulders. “So fucking forgive me Father that I wanted some sort of leverage to the shit you got on me. Some safety net, if you try to fuck me over.” Matt chose his lawyer-voice.  
  
His solid, convincing voice.   
  
Not trembling.  
  
Well maybe a bit trembling, but that was due to the alcohol!  


There was a brief moment of silence between them. But there was this thing with Frank. This annoying little thing. Every second with him could stretch into an eternity. Drip down like honey and run hot as lava over Matt’s cold body. Burning him, without touching his flesh.   
  
Matt felt his fingertips go numb and he wanted to ask Frank what they were supposed to do now, just as Frank lowered his gun, putting it safely away into the holster around his thigh. “If I wanted to destroy you, I would have already done it, Murdock.”   
  
Looking at Frank’s huge arsenal of weapons… well, it seemed to be the truth.   
  
“You could equip a small army with all that stuff.” Matt nodded into the general direction of the weaponry, just to say anything.   
  
Even turning his head was difficult. Damn you, alcohol. He tried to focus on the room, Frank, the danger, but it was all just on the edge of being too wobbly.   
  
The weapons were… big. Heavy. Matt was a strong man, he was pretty sure he could deadlift Frank and throw him over his shoulder (given that Frank wouldn’t suckerpunch him to death if he tried), but holding one of those guns for a long period of time? Totally still? His muscles weren’t trained for that. Matt was more of a quick and agile guy. Hitting wherever a small gap let him hit, moving before the pain had reached the brain of his enemy. Attacking again.  
  
Matt was a weapon, made by Stick.  
  
But those weapons, Frank’s weapons… they were so different.   
  
Ready.  
  
    Aim.  
  
        Fire.   
  
            Death.  
  
Matt knew nothing at all about Frank, but that he wouldn’t need more than one shot to kill his target. He was thoroughly.   
  
“It’s not for an army. Just for me”, Frank grumbled, his words filled with so much self confidence… they made Matt a little bit… jealous. Just a bit. This man was so… so fucking sure of everything he did and himself.. And he was confident in the way his weapons were hit so that nobody else was in danger of using them.  
  
Matt had to give it to him: Nobody would expect an arsenal like that under a priest’s bed.   
  
Even though Frank was surrounded by a strange aura of danger. Not many people had something like that.  
  
Fisk had it.   
  
Nobu did not.  
  
Electra had it for sure…  
  
There was something in the way he talked, carried himself. Something in the smell of his skin. A predator, not hiding in the fur of a sheep, no. Lingering in the dark, right beneath the shadows, always in sight, but never… clearly there. Did only Matt notice it? Were all the other people really that blind? Matt did not know. He really didn’t. Matt wasn’t sure how normal people… felt. What they were able to see, feel and hear and what not.  
  
He had the general things down, that wasn’t a problem. Nobody was able to see movement before it even happened, nobody was able to hear that silent whisper only Matt was able to pick up. Nobody knew what happened in the dark corners of that city.  
  
Nobody, but Matt.   
  
He barely remembered the time when he had been normal.   
  
Not a freak like that.   
  
But those memories vanished day after day after day. And it got harder to anticipate what other people might know and what passed by their senses.

  
Matt tried to imitate Foggy and Karen. He tried to be like them, or at least to look and act like them to make everybody believe that the honk of a car horn wasn’t a fucking headache trigger. But it did not help. Other people believed him, but he was still nothing but an alien body.   
  
But Frank was just as much of an alien as Matt.   
  
If he wanted to or not. He was wrong and strange in this world. With the small difference that Frank didn’t try to hide it, unlike Matt. He was just trying to hide the darkest part of his personality. Right here… In this drawer.   
  
Frank crossed the room and took – softly – the photograph out of Matts hands. A gesture so contrasting to that strong, tall man that Matt wasn’t sure if it was really happening. Matt froze in his movements. It seemed rather… out of place as if that picture was the most important thing in the world to Frank. He put it ever so carefully back into the drawer, making sure that it didn’t crumble up, as he slit it shut. Matt felt dirty for touching it…  
  
He looked away.  
  
“So… Instead of roaming through me stuff, I’ll offer you this: I’ll make us some coffee and you will explain to me in detail all the shit you are involved. Because, quiet frankly said, I’ve had a really fucked day and I have no nerve for your child’s play.”  
  
That was strict and directly to the point.   
  
The guns were gone and Matt felt instantly better. They were hidden, kept away from everybody’s view. Except for his own. Matt was never really… blind. He always knew of the dark things everyone was so keen to hide. Frank turned around and started walking into the general direction of the kitchen. The old, wooden floor creaked under his heavy steps. “And get rid of that ridiculous black thing on your face. What’s up with your clothes anyway? Thought you had this suit with the cute little horny horns. Do they serve a function, or are they just whimsical ballast?” Frank’s tone wasn’t friendly, but he didn’t sound like he wanted to shoot Matt anymore. Improvement.  
  
Frank must have read the newspaper, huh? Matt remembered the day, after Foggy had worked though the shock of Matt being Daredevil, when he questioned him over every minute detail of the costume. The new one. Including the horns. They seemed to be quiet the eyecatcher.  
  
Matt liked them.  
  
Melvin was proud of them.   
  
He’ll keep them.   
  
Back in the day, when Matt had cornered Fisk as Daredevil somebody must have taken a photograph of him. That’s the only explanation he had for everybody knowing of his suit.. Said picture had found its way into a newspaper and well… now everybody knew, didn’t they? Foggy had said that Matt looked stunning as always in the picture.   
  
Anyway, that’s how Frank must have gotten to know of Matt’s costume. Matt wouldn’t doubt that Frank went through the archives of every newspaper to look Matt’s costume up. Frank did not seem like that typ of a guy who would leave anything unprepared. Matt didn’t know Frank, but they were quiet similar in that regard. Being prepared was the key.   
  
In general, both men seemed to have more in common than meets the eye.  
  
Their personal issues for example. They did not let those fucking issues stop them, oh no.  
  
On the contrary: They had become their motivation.   
  
Matt pulled the black, wet mask from his face and ruffled through his destroyed hair, giving Frank’s back a half-smile.  
  
“They don’t have any function at all, but they serve the image.” Matt did not care at all about his image, but it was… nice having a name for himself. He heard the whispers. The rumours between those thugs. They were afraid of the Devil of Hells Kitchen. Daredevil was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. A cryptid so to say. He had never aimed to become a living nightmare, but he liked to work with what he got. “ And I did leave them at home. I didn’t want Daredevil to be connected to breaking and entering...” He grinned slightly. “Let alone in a church.”  
  
They reached the kitchen and Matt tried to ignore the shiver running down his spine. He tried to remember that one breathing exercise Stick hat taught him. Being one with the body, being in control of the body.   
  
He was to drunk, to remember.   
  
The flat was rather chilly, close to being uncomfortable. But Matt didn’t dare to complain, more so since he was breaking-in… juristically speaking. Better to concentrate on something else. The smell of coffee was a welcome diversion from his cold, trembling body. He inhaled, feeling the smell taking over his mind.  
  
Matt quickly scanned the kitchen. Cupboards? Nothing in there, except some instant meals and a lot of coffee. His senses ran over the room, noting everything else and see what you got: A gun, taped with some duct tape under the cheap table.   
  
Frank already had a weapon strapped to his leg, so the gun under the table was more of a secondary danger for Matt. Frank was prepared. Once again: Matt wasn’t surprised at all. He would have been more surprised, nearly insulted if Frank had no hidden guns all over his flat. Matt brushed his hair back. It felt strange being in that kitchen. Not as a priest and Daredevil, but as Frank and Matt.   
  
And strangely enough… Matt felt saver then he should.   
  
Maybe because he did not have to justify himself in front of Frank. That made him a good listener, or a really bad priest, huh? Matt surprised the little twitch of cold in his muscles. The wet clothes were like glued to his body. All in all he was uncomfortable to no end and Frank seemed to enjoy it. Or at least he did not do anything to make the whole situation more comfortable for Matt.   
  
Great. Simply great.  
  
Frank seemingly ignored him and made some coffee. But he knew better. That man was watching Matt like a hawk, even when he acted as disinterested as possible.   
Matt noted that Frank used double the recommended amount of coffee powder… So he was kind of an addict, right? Or he wanted to give Matt a coffee poisoning. “And what makes you think that I want to fuck you over, Red?”  
  
“Up until now nobody had been really on my side. Strangers even more so.” Matt’s voice sounded more bitter than the coffee as he pulled out a chair and seated himself. (The chair made a sound as if Matt’s weight was too much for it. As far away from the gun as possible. He didn’t want to provoke a shootout. Frank’s holy guns were just for himself.

 

“Don’t think for a second that I am on your side.” He put the cup full of steaming hot coffee right in front of Matt. Fuck, Matt avoided coffee as much as possible. His body was really sensible to that stuff and let his finger shake and made his head way more… vulnerable. But it was warm and he needed some warmth right about now.   
  
Frank took a seat right opposite of Matt, closer to the gun and he took a long gulp of coffee. His nose twitched ever so slightly, before he lowered the mug a bit. His act of being casual was nearly perfect. But Matt felt his gaze lingering on his body.   
  
Not that perfect.  
  
“Well… as I said…” Matt huffed nervously. That wasn’t the answer he had been expecting, nor wanting. If Frank wanted to kill him, now was his chance. Matt broke into his flat, he could fucking act as if Matt had a gun, make it seem like self defence. But Frank appeared to be more that kind of guy to hide the body.  
  
Matt didn’t want to be buried in the fucking garden of a church with a whole in his forehead. Matt would be so mad if his death would remain a secret to everybody. But he was sure that Karen wouldn’t leave even one stone unturned up until Matt’s murderer was found. Foggy would be an awesome Watson. His death would be avenged, he was sure.   
  
But he wasn’t ready to die, despite his suicidal actions.  
  
“You are a half measure, Red.” Really? Red? Matt wasn’t even wearing his red suit. (Well, he was told that it was red. Being blind surely had its disadvantages.) But that wasn’t the biggest insult here.  
   
“Excuse me? A half measure?!”  
  
“You don’t finish shit”, Frank explained, his voice deep and dark, hiding anger. “You hit them down, they get up again.”   
  
“I bring them in front of a judge! In front of a jury!”  
  
“OH! The eternal lawyer, ain’t you?” It sounded like an insult, it was meant as an insult. Matt felt attacked in the worst of ways. He raised his chin a bit, pressed his teeth onto each other. A stoic expression on his face. He raised his voice ever so slightly. “Our legal system takes care of everyone deserving it!”, he spit. “I just take care of them getting there, shortening the way.”  
  
Frank belled out a laugh.   
  
It sounded like a barking dog. It was actually a nice laugh, if it wasn’t filled with so much pain. Frank emptied the cup of coffee in one long drag, his own smell was fully washed away by coffee.  
  
“Go directly to jail, do not pass go and do not collect 200 Dollars.” Frank snorted. “What about those seven guys you beat into hospital, huh, Red? They will be locked away for how long again? Will they be locked away? I remember they won’t… They really did learn their lesson, didn’t they? Are better people now, after all that shit. Well done, Red.”  
  
Matt wasn’t here to listen to those insults. He wasn’t here to hear accusations and… and… He pressed his lips together. He was so fucking angry and his anger had always been his biggest weak point. And his arrogant self. Fisk and Nobu had beaten a lot of it out of him, but it was still there. And it was raging.   
  
“At least I am doing something, Frank! Unlike someone else!”  
  
“Breath-taking.” Frank rolled his eyes, sparking Matt’s rage even more.

 

†

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this bitch wrote another chapter. what happens next will surprise you.


	6. Black Dishwater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Frank try to find an agreement.

†

 

Well, if that wasn’t just plain rude!

 

Matt wasn’t here to get lectured by a coffee-addicted priest! Or get lectured at all! He wasn’t a dumb school boy anymore, fuck, he was a vigilante, a lawyer and right now he broke into a flat. Getting lectured? Matt should be the one lecturing Frank! Matt wondered for one brief moment if it was worth it to get into an argument with him. Both men seemed to be rather… hot headed, a fight would break loose, that’s for sure. A good fight, Frank looked like the kind of guy who could throw some mean punches, but wouldn’t mind getting hit a few times himself. A good sparring partner. But there were some more pressing matters, the fight would have to wait. He allowed the silence to rise and climb between the both of them, like a huge wall, separating them from the old argument, opening the path for a new argument.  
  
A fresh pile of shit.

  
„So… if you don’t want to fuck me over, what do you want instead?  
  
That’s the one thing Matt had really no fucking idea about, regardless of how much he wondered. Frank wasn’t all about the knowledge, there was… more. He would have left it at that, but he had burrowed deeper, had wanted to get more information, but what was his gain? He could have left it at the fact of knowing that Daredevil was Matt Murdock, but… he wanted more. And Matt had no idea what _more_ entailed.   
  
“Why are you that interested?” Frank was one smart guy, Matt had to give it to him. He really knew where he had to ask, and when he had to talk. Or in his case: When to shut up. He wasn’t a man of many words. He knew how to trigger every little nerve right inside of Matt’s mind and the worst thing was: Matt fell for it. He fell hard and violent for it. He should have known better, since he was an attorney and all. But even the smartest guys could be damn fools.   
  
“Because it’s about my damn future, Frank, It’s about my friends and everyone close to me and I want to know what kind of danger I have to expect from you. And even after finding out about your lil’ gun hoarding problem, you have so much more against me in your hand, so fucking spill your beans.” Matt flashed his cards. He had nothing to hide and Frank seemed like the kind of man to appreciate the direct way.   
  
He just wanted to get it all over with. One way, or the other.  
  
Matt drank one big gulp of the bitter, black coffee.   
  
Thanks to years and years in college he was able to drink the bitter dishwater without moving one muscle in his face. Do not show weakness, under any circumstances  
  
Frank leaned back, looking as smug as a fat cat that got its mouse right where it wanted it to be. He was in control and that thought had the same aftertaste as the coffee to Matt. “I don’t plan on fucking you nor your future over. Let alone those friends of yours. Even though I think you are a half measure. But as you said, you are doing something and that’s more than the rest of the city is doing.” He crunched his nose a little bit, looking at the wall right behing Matt’s head. “The city drowns in its own dirt and nobody seems to care.”  
  
That was the truth.  
  
“Well… it’s New York.”   
  
Frank barked out a short laugh. A warmer, more honest one. “That’s true. It’s New York.”

His fingers played with the porcelain cup… No, not porcelain, more like a really cheap ceramics imitation. Like everything in the flat was kinda cheap. Nothing really matched, nothing seemed to have the same age, or has gotten the same useage. Matt wasn’t one to decore his loft, he enjoyed minimalism. But… pretty minimalism. His décor matched the furniture, he even got a good amount of matching sets for his cutlery.

  
Frank on the other hand… The furniture seemd as if he had found it somewhere and just decided it would go into the flat. Not one chair matched the other one, the rooms were a fucking junkyard made lifeable. But Frank seemed to like it, or he just didn’t care about stuff like that.    
  
“I am serious about it, Red. I don’t want to get you into shit, fuck I kinda want to help you. Everyone needs a Save House.”  
  
“Save House?”  
  
“You are a masked vigilante and you don’t know what a damn Save House is?” In Frank’s voice was soft-ish, but definitely amused. He wasn’t mad at Matt, just… a bit more mild. “A Save House is a place far away from your home, or where you are deployed, with no connection to you or your team. Some sort of place where you can’t be found.”  
  
Oh.  
  
“Back in my military times we had a few of them hidden throught our current battle location. There were missions where we didn’t need them at all and sometimes they were our only way to survive. Hiding in plain sight. Nursing broken limbs back to being useful.” There was a small shift in Frank’s voice. His voice didn’t get softer, but there was an emotion deeply entwinded in his words… An emotion Matt never had felt before, but he knew its taste all the better.   
  
Homesick.  
  
Frank was homesick.  
  
He longed for the battlefield.  
  
It made Frank more human. And a lot more dangerous “You could need a Save House one day, Red.”  
  
Whatever the deal was with Frank: He was saying the truth. He didn’t want to fuck Matt over. He actually wanted to help him, even though he thought that Matt’s war wasn’t enough yet, that he didn’t do enough for his cause. (If only Frank knew how much Matt had already lost.) Regardless: He was no danger. Not to Matt. At least… not for the moment. Maybe for the rest of New York, and Hells Kitchen, but not for Matt.  
  
“But there is one thing I need to know…” Frank put his elbows loosly onto the table, looking at Matt. A lot of people had looked at Matt, that’s the price you had to pay, when you were arguing in front of a jury, yet nobody really… _looked_ at him. They saw Matt Murdock the attorney. Maybe they knew at a bit of his history, but Frank… really _saw_ Matt.   
  
Tried to go beyond his skin. Digging deeper into the darkness Matt tried to hide from everyone, even himself.   
  
He looked him straight in the eyes and it took Matt all his willpower not to avert his eyes. “How do you do it? You’re blind, aren’t you?“  
  
Nearly nobody talked about his blindness.   
  
Everybody danced around the obvious. Tried to act as if Matt was able-bodied. But he wasn’t. They were just as annoying as those people thinking that Matt wasn’t able to do anything. Frank didn’t beat around the bush, he went full in and Matt would be a liar if he said that he didn’t liked it. Maybe… he found it a bit charming… In a really, really rough way. “But you seem to get along just fine. Fuck, if I didn’t know it any better I’d say that you are fooling everyone.“  


Well, Matt _DID_ things no normal blind man should be able to do. Starting with breaking into a flat, to nearly killing seven men. Matt could answer Franks question, could explain it all to him… but… that wasn’t part of the game, was it? Matt didn’t know since when all of this stuff had turned into a game, but he was no quitter. “You seem to enjoy playing detective, Frank. I am pretty sure that you will find out on your own.”   
  
Frank smiled.   
  
Challenge Accepted, huh?

  
Matt drowned the last bit of coffee, before he stood up. His skin was kinda cold and feverish. He was freezing, while he felt like burning alive. The sudden downpour had cost him a lot of endurance, and his little trip… well he wouldn’t go as far as calling it a success. The goosebumbs pressed hard against the heavy, damp fabric of his top and every little movement was too much. He was too sensible, hypersensible and everything was just… a bit over the top for him.   
  
As if Frank were one of those mindreaders, he seemed to understand. He stood up and offered Matt his broad, rough hand. A short and precise movement, hinting to his past in the military.   
  
“See you around, Red.”  
  
“Castle”, Matt replied, slightly smiling and took his hand, pressed it firmly. Every little scar on the palm of his hands was visible to Matt. Every furrow, let alone how small, was like the fucking grand canyon for him. Matt shivered unvoluntary. He didn’t even know why, but he hoped and prayed to God that Frank assumed the shiver came from the rain and the cold. Fuck. Matt turned around, ready to leave. As he was on the top of the stairs he heard Frank calling out his his name behind him.  
  
His real name.   
  
No Nickname.  
  
“Oh, Matthew?” Matt stopped dead in his tracks, without turning around. Why should he turn around, it wasn’t like his vision would clear up or anything. “If I ever catch you stalking me, or ruining the fucking garden of the church… I am not opposed to testing my guns, do you understand me? And let me make one thing clear to you. I have a rule to life be: One shot, one kill. I never miss.” He wasn’t fooling around, that’s for sure. Even without Matt’s hearing he would have known.  
  
Matt’s lips twichted.   
  
“I make sure to remember it, Punisher.”

  


†

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeey... I have already half of the next chapter translated. It's amazing. 
> 
> I am so lazy, sorry.

**Author's Note:**

> Visit me on my tumblr:
> 
> mattmurdick.tumblr.com


End file.
